


Count Down From Today

by pinn



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-18
Updated: 2010-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-06 10:10:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinn/pseuds/pinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where they're all grad students. Bob has a stupid crush on Frank, Frank's stupidly oblivious, and Gerard and Pete are stupid for each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Count Down From Today

**Author's Note:**

> Written for sinsense in the [popoffacork](http://community.livejournal.com/popoffacork) 2008 challenge. AU with an attempt at a wintery, thoughtful atmosphere. Thanks to numerous betas for handholding, reassuring me that it worked, and finding all my mistakes.

Bob knows it's going to be a rough morning when he walks into the main graduate office and hears Tegan and Sara coming from the direction of his office. Bob groans and shakes his head.

Patrick, sitting in his cubicle near the mailboxes, looks up from his computer and says, "Yeah, it's been playing all morning."

"Sorry, man. I'll tell him to turn it down."

Patrick shrugs. "Whatever. I think it's keeping Barbara away and I'm not about to complain about that."

Bob nods. He wouldn't want to deal with the department secretary on a Friday morning either. She's a nice lady, but she runs the English department with an iron fist. Bob wouldn't be surprised to find out that she's bugged their offices.

Bob really hadn't been expecting much in terms of an office when he started grad school last year. A mailbox and a desk were all he thought he wanted. When he found out he was getting an actual office, Bob had gotten a little excited. Then he saw said office and realized it was a refurbished closet with two desks jammed in it. The excitement had dimmed a little after that.

He pushes open the door to their office and a wall of sound hits him. Frank turns from his desk, sees Bob, and turns down the music without saying anything.

Bob flings his bag on his desk and says, "So you ran into Jamia and her boyfriend last night."

"No."

"Don't lie to me." Bob shrugs out of his jacket. "You always blare Tegan and Sara every time you see Jamia. I swear to fuck, you listen to them so much I'm about to become a lesbian twin from Canada."

Frank's face drops and he looks like one of those rescue dogs they show in commercials for the pound.

Bob softens his tone and says, "You fucking broke up with her, Frankie."

"I know what I did," Frank snaps. "That doesn't mean I have to like watching her make out with her new boyfriend."

Their desks are arranged in an L-shape and there's some space between them but they're still close enough that him and Frank are always accidentally hitting each other when they stretch or stand up too quick. Bob pulls his chair out and sits down quickly so he doesn't get hit when Frank gets violent, as he tends to do when talking about Jamia.

"So stop going to that bar," Bob reasons. "It's not rocket science."

"But it was my bar first," Frank whines. "Besides, she started dating that douchebag three months after we broke up. I'm still not ready to date and it's been six months. I don't get it."

They've been having this exact same conversation since August when Frank first found out about Jamia's new boyfriend. It's now the middle of October and Bob is kind of tired of hearing about it. He pulls his papers out of his bag and says nothing.

"Ignoring me is a little rude," Frank says sulkily.

"I'm not ignoring you. I just don't know what else to say that I haven't already said," Bob replies. "It takes time, dude."

"I know," Frank mutters.

They lapse into an easy quiet after that. Bob goes over his notes for his class that day while Frank grades papers, muttering comments under his breath and huffing in exasperation.

Frank might only be three apples tall, but he's loud and messy, and has the type of personality that takes up the whole goddamned room. Bob prefers things quiet and orderly. There was a time when he thought he and Frank weren't going to last as office mates. But after a tense first month and some passive-aggressive drawer slamming, they've managed to make it work. Now Bob has a hard time working at home without Frank's constant shuffling around.

"Oh for the love of... 'Emily Dickinson wrote a lot of poetry about death because she was sad." Frank snorts. "Jesus fuckin' Christ, how am I supposed to grade that?"

Bob laughs.

Frank's quiet for a few minutes and then yelps. "Oh my god. 'In conclusion, if Emily Dickinson was alive today, she would probably be on anti-depressants and the world would be deprived of her poetry.'"

"Ouch." Bob winces. "That's pretty bad."

Frank tilts back in his chair, rests his head on Bob's shoulder, and talks to the ceiling. "Bobert, please tell me we're going to happy hour tonight. I can't make it through these essays unless I know there's a reward at the end."

Bob takes a second to enjoy the warm press of Frank against him before he shrugs and dislodges Frank's head. "You went out last night."

"But I wasn't with you," Frank argues. "What's the point of getting drunk if I'm not harassing you?"

"The point is that you save me from having to deal with your shit," Bob says as he rolls his chair over to the door. "Stump, you feel like hitting up happy hour?"

"Yeah," Patrick calls back. "Want me to email everyone?"

"Fuck yeah," Frank yells, punching the air over his head.

Bob rolls his eyes at Frank. "Thanks, Stump."

+

Frank, Bob, and Patrick are the first ones at the bar. They grab a table in the back and wait for Ray, Pete, and Gerard to show up.

Ray's getting his PhD in medieval warfare, and Pete and Gerard are both in the art department. They all met last fall, the weekend before school started, at the graduate student reception. Both Frank and Gerard did their undergrad together and had even taken a few classes together. When Frank had seen Gerard at the reception, he yelped, "Holy shit, Gee!" and made Bob and Patrick go over with him to talk to Gerard. Pete and Ray had been standing with Gerard and there was a lot of awkward conversation until they found out the math and science grad students received full stipends and tuition waivers. Their mutual hatred of the science students bonded them together.

Frank throws his bag under the table and says, "Going to get a pitcher. Any requests?"

"Not PBR," Bob says.

Frank waves his hand dismissively and heads to the bar.

"What is it with him and PBR?" Patrick asks.

Before Bob can answer, Pete drapes himself over Patrick's shoulders and says, "Patrick, light of my life, my muse, when are you going to provide me with new material? Give me some of your beautiful prose to light my way along this dark, dreary path known as art."

Pete's thesis project is something combining the written word, mixed media, and murals. Bob's never really been able to figure out what Pete's stuff is supposed to be but people are always fawning over Pete's "pieces" at his shows, so Bob figures it must be all right.

Patrick shrugs his shoulders but Pete refuses to move. Patrick finally gives up and says, "Pete, I'm studying Eastern European Literature from 1850 to 1900. How does that provide you with any inspiration?"

"Your words are my art." Pete kisses Patrick's cheek and sits down in the chair next to him. "What's shaking, BC Bryar?"

"Your mom, Wentz."

"Really?" Pete replies. "Because that's not what your mom was saying last night."

"Come on, guys. Do we have to bring each other's moms into this? Aren't we better than that subtle sexism?" Gerard sits down on the other side of Pete, across from Bob.

Gerard's studying comics as a mirror of societal changes over the last fifty years. He's also got some big art project that ties his whole thesis together, so he and Pete share a studio.

Bob and Pete look at each and then say, in unison, "No."

Gerard laughs and flips them off just as Ray sits down at the table.

"Seriously, Gerard, I hope that's not how you greet everyone," Ray says. "If this was the thirteenth century, someone would chop your arm off and hang it up in the town square to teach you a lesson."

"Good to know," Gerard says, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

Frank sets the pitcher and a bunch of glasses on the table, lights his cigarette, and announces, "I'm on the prowl tonight, kids."

Bob snorts and Frank looks over at him. "Watch yourself. You're the one sitting next to me."

Everyone laughs awkwardly and Bob looks down at the table. He can feel his cheeks flush. He hopes that Frank blames it on the alcohol and embarrassment, and not anything else. Bob's done a pretty good job of keeping his awkward crush on Frank under wraps (at least from Frank) for the past six months and he'd really like to keep it that way forever, or at least until it goes away.

Gerard clears his throat. "How's the research going, Ray?"

"Oh man, it's great." Ray bobs his head. Even his hair looks excited. "I think we finally figured out this one lance. If I'm right, it might change theories about how it was used."

"That's really amazing, Ray," Gerard says. He might not know what people are talking about but that never stops Gerard from getting excited about other people's research.

"Hey, before I forget, Mikey's band is playing at the Pelican tomorrow. He told me to tell everyone about it." Gerard looks around the table. "Can you guys make it?"

Pete and Patrick exchange a look before Patrick says, "We'll try."

Pete and Mikey had this weird flirtation thing going on at the beginning of the summer. Bob hadn't paid much attention because it was going on at the same time Frank and Jamia were breaking up. All he really knows is that Gerard kept catching them doing "unspeakable things" in Pete and Gerard's studio, and Gerard was pissy the whole time it was going on.

It stopped just as quickly as it started. According to Patrick, Mikey got a girlfriend and then Pete was an extra shade of crazy for a few weeks after that. Everything seems okay now, but Pete still has Patrick RSVP for him to all Mikey invitations.

The conversation jumps all over the place after that. Out of the corner of his eye, Bob watches Frank stare at him, scope out the bar, and then stare at Bob some more. Bob tries not to consider it too much.

They're starting to wind down when Patrick's phone rings. He pulls it out of his pocket and smiles as he answers it. "Hey baby, are you home?"

Pete and Frank make kissy faces at the phone and Patrick bats them away with his hand.

"Okay, I'll be home soon." Patrick says. He closes his phone and stands up. After he's thrown some money on the table, Patrick pulls his coat on and says, "I'll see you losers on Monday."

After he leaves, Pete looks at the clock and says, "Shit, I gotta go back to the studio."

Gerard breaks off his conversation with Ray and asks, "Are you heading back over? I've got some work to finish up too."

Pete nods.

"Pelican, tomorrow night at ten." Gerard points at all of them as he stands up.

It's quiet after Gerard and Pete leave. Ray looks at Bob. "You staying or going?"

Bob considers his glass and the half-empty pitcher in front of him. "Want to finish off this pitcher?"

"Yeah."

Frank stands up. "Hey, I see someone at the bar I know. I'll be right back."

Bob and Ray watch Frank walk over to the bar and slide in next to a pretty, blonde girl.

Ray makes a funny face, takes a sip of his beer, and asks, "How's class going?"

Bob's grateful for the change of subject and turns away from the bar to answer Ray.

By the time they've finished the pitcher, Frank still hasn't come back from the bar. He's been getting louder and louder though with a crowd of people around him.

"I've got to get going. Krista's going to kill me. Do you mind taking care of Frank?" Ray asks apologetically.

"It's cool. I'll see you next week."

Ray waves as he walks off. Before Bob can grab their stuff and get Frank from the bar, Frank shows up at the table, full pitcher in hand.

"Want another?" Frank grins.

"Not really," Bob replies.

"Oh come on, Bob." Frank refills their glasses. "Don't act like you have a life and have anywhere else to be. You know you want more beer."

Bob takes a sip of his beer and says, "I can't believe I just let you peer pressure me."

"Not only did you let me but you enjoyed it."

They finish off the pitcher while gossiping about people in the department, especially the weird kids in the creative writing program, and talking about what classes to put in a TA request for next semester.

"C'mon, Frank, time to go," Bob says as Frank drinks the last dregs of the pitcher.

"Yeah, yeah."

They grab their stuff and make their way out of the bar. Bob passes at least three of his students on the way out. He avoids making eye contact, though, because he's pretty buzzed and talking to them right now would be an awful idea.

The fresh air feels good once they get outside and Bob sobers up a little. He's thinking about the wind on his cheeks and how fall is winding down as they walk; he's not really paying attention to Frank. This is his first mistake and Bob realizes it as soon as he hears Frank running behind him.

"Aw, shit," Bob groans. He stops walking, shifts his bag to the front, and braces himself for the impact which comes a few seconds later. Bob automatically grabs Frank's legs and holds on.

"Piggyback ninja!" Frank crows.

"Fuck, Iero." Bob hefts him up. "All that PBR's making you fat."

"Bob," Frank giggles in his ear, warm breath ghosting over Bob's neck and making him shiver. "Bob."

"Yeah, Frankie?"

Bob never should have allowed the first piggyback the night they all met at the reception. Give a mouse a cookie and all that shit. Plus, it's not really helping Bob get over his stupid crush.

Frank answers, "Nothing." He props his chin on Bob's shoulder and hums in his ear as they walk.

They make it another two blocks before Bob stops. "Done."

"Lame," Frank grumbles. He slides off Bob anyways and says, "Thanks, Bobert."

They walk in silence for a few more blocks until they reach the front of Bob's apartment building.

"Later, Frank," Bob says as he turns to head up the walk.

Frank calls after him, "Hey, hang on a second."

Bob stops and turns around. "Yeah?"

Frank takes a step forward then another and the next thing Bob knows, Frank's kissing him. Bob opens his mouth in surprise and Frank takes that as an invitation to stick his tongue in Bob's mouth. Frank's warm and pressed against him, making a soft noise as he tries to convince Bob to open his mouth further. It's all way too much for Bob's defenses, and he relaxes into it.

Bob's hand makes its way to Frank's hip, and he slips it under Frank's jacket. He's rubbing his thumb on Frank's hip, and trying to remember why this is a bad idea when Frank breaks off the kiss.

"Fuck," Frank breathes. "I knew this was a good idea."

And that's it. That's the reminder Bob needs.

Bob firmly tells himself that they're both drunk and Frank is just looking to get laid. He pulls his hand back and steps away shakily. He can't think of anything to say and he just shakes his head.

This is a bad fucking idea.

Bob turns to go back up the walk.

"Bob?" Frank says. "Bob, what the fuck?"

Frank sounds totally confused. Bob stops but he doesn't turn around. Eventually, he says, "No, Frank," and goes inside.

As soon as he's in his apartment, Bob throws his bag down on the floor and then kicks it across the room.

He swears under his breath as he takes off his coat and hangs it up. "Goddamnit."

Bob's not really sure who he's cursing at, himself or Frank. He thinks it might be a little of both. He walks through his living room and takes a quick glance out the front windows. Frank's gone.

Bob grabs a beer out of his fridge, pops the lid off, and drinks half of it in one swallow.

"Fuck."

Fucking dumbass Frank. Bob can guarantee that Frank has no idea why Bob's upset. If anything, Frank probably thinks Bob isn't into Frank like that. It'll never cross his mind that Bob wants a lot more than some random hook up as a way to blow off steam.

He finishes off his beer and stares at magnets on his fridge. Frank gave him poetry magnets last Christmas, and now every time he comes over, he writes haikus or limericks. Bob's entire fridge is now covered in haiku porn.

Bob shakes his head and washes out the beer bottle. He puts it next to the sink for the recycle bin before he goes to bed.

When Bob wakes up the next afternoon, his head's throbbing and his mouth tastes like stale beer and cigarettes.

"Shit," he moans as he rolls into a sitting position. He rubs his face with one of his hands while he yawns. The memory of Frank kissing him comes rushing back and Bob falls back on the bed.

His brain replays the kiss about fifty million times as Bob gets up, showers, eats, and tries to make himself human. Around three, he tells his brain to shut the fuck up already and forces himself to sit down and grade papers.

It's dark when Bob finally finishes his grading. He stands up and stretches, enjoying the crack of his back. The clock says it's half-past seven. Bob makes a face as he remembers that Mikey's band is playing tonight.

There is absolutely nothing Bob wants to do less than to go to a smoky club, listen to a bunch of bands, and possibly deal with Frank. He grabs his phone, orders a pizza, and then turns his phone off and leaves it off for the rest of the weekend.

He checks his email on Sunday night. There's an email from his mom reminding him to buy his plane ticket for Christmas, and another one from Patrick sent at early Sunday morning, bitching about Pete being in one of his crazy phases.

+

When Monday morning comes, Bob forces himself out of bed and trudges through the rain to school.

Instead of going into the graduate student offices, Bob takes a sharp right and goes into the stairwell. He goes up one flight of stairs to the next floor and follows the twisting hallway until he's standing outside Brian's office. Brian's door is half-open and Bob can hear him talking so he stands out in the hallway and stares at the door. Brian Schechter, Postdoctoral Fellow

Bob idly thinks it would be nice to have an office that isn't a closet and has his name on the door. Of course, those kinds of perks require a Ph.D. Bob hasn't even picked a date for his comps yet.

Brian and Bob actually met in college when Brian was the TA for every one of Bob's upper level English classes. When Brian had found out that Bob was planning doing sound in a club after graduation instead of doing something with his degree, Brian flipped out and forced Bob to take the GREs and apply to grad school. The idea of spending more time in school, dicking around and being forced to follow someone else's rules, really hadn't appealed to Bob until Brian pointed out that he would get paid to read and talk about books. That had kind of sealed the deal for Bob. Through some weird fluke, Brian wound up at the same school and even though Bob would never actually admit it, it was pretty awesome and he was glad Brian had talked him into this.

"I can see you, Bryar," Brian calls out.

Bob pushes the door open and walks in. He arranges himself on the tiny chair near the door and says, "Knock, knock."

Brian sets down his phone and scowls. "Have you seen Gerard?"

Bob thinks. "Not since Friday night."

"Shit. He's supposed to be doing a guest lecture in one of my classes today and I can't find him. You think Pete would know where he is?"

"Patrick says Pete's in one his manic phases, up all night doing crazy ass artwork and trying to set the studio on fire," Bob answers.

"So that's a no." Brian rubs his face. "Goddamn temperamental artists. Gerard's probably at some underground comics store, bartering his kidney for a first edition."

"You ever notice how Gerard always drops off the face of the planet right around the same time Pete goes manic?" Bob thinks out loud.

Brian drops his hands from his face and looks suspicious. "You think the two are related?"

Bob thinks about his words carefully. "I think that we're talking about two people who share a small studio and have been having mini-crazy episodes at the same time for the last nine months."

"I don't want to think about this." Brian waves his hand. "Anyway, why are you lurking outside my office?"

"I can't visit my favorite Melville expert?" Bob stalls.

"You only come to my office when you're avoiding one of the following: work, grading, or your ridiculous crush on Frank. Which is it this time?"

Bob opens his mouth to deny Brian's accusations and closes it again. It's true, he's not very good about tracking Brian down. He usually just corners Brian by the mailboxes or at seminars.

"Seriously, I've got to prep for class. Spit it out."

"Frank and I hooked up on Friday," Bob blurts. He immediately makes a face and stares at the floor.

"Are you shitting me?" Brian sputters. "Did you finally grow a pair?"

"He basically announced that he was on the prowl and looking for action. Then, when we all laughed at him, he told me to stop laughing because I was sitting the closest to him." Bob rubs the edge of his sleeve between his thumb and forefinger. "I thought he was kidding, but after we left the bar, he walked home with me and stuck his tongue down my throat while we were standing in front of my building."

"Shit. What did you do?"

"I pushed him away and went inside. I didn't say anything."

"And you guys haven't talked since then?"

Bob scowls. "No."

Brian leans back in his chair and laces his hands behind his head. He stares at Bob and says, "Well shit, Bryar. I don't know what to tell you."

Bob nods. He doesn't know what to tell himself either.

+

Somehow Bob manages to avoid his office and Frank for another two days. It takes a lot of work but he hopscotches across campus, doing work in different places like the student union, the coffee shop, and finally the library. He's taking a cigarette break behind on the library on the second day when he sees a familiar figure on the other side of the yard, sitting on a bench, smoking furiously.

Bob grabs his bag and cuts across the lawn until he's standing in front of Gerard.

"This bench taken?" Bob asks.

Gerard jumps and looks up at Bob. "Shit, you scared the fuck out of me."

"I doubt that." Bob sits down next to Gerard. "What's going on, man? I haven't seen you in days."

"Oh you know, the usual. Looking for comics in all the wrong places." Bob laughs and Gerard looks pleased with himself. "I heard you were a busy little bee last Friday."

"Shit." Bob slumps down on the bench. The cold from the concrete seeps through his jacket and Bob straightens up. "Did Frank tell you about jumping me?"

"He got trashed at Mikey's show on Saturday and told me all about it." Gerard smirks. "He didn't know what the fuck to think about it."

"Goddamnit."

"I can't blame him. You've had a crush on Frankie for a while, right? But when he finally kisses you, you walk away. That's kind of fucked up."

"Gee, you heard him on Friday. He said he was on the prowl. The only reason he was looking at me was because I was sitting next to him. "

Gerard nods. "I don't think he meant that."

"I think he did. He saw Jamia on Thursday, got bummed because of her boyfriend, and decided he wanted to get laid."

"Maybe. But it just doesn't seem like Frank. Besides, he likes you too much as a friend to dick you over."

Bob waves his hand. "Doesn't matter. I'm not desperate and I'm not a pity fuck."

"Frank's a good guy," Gerard says. "He's just a doofus sometimes."

"Don't I fucking know it." Bob takes a drag on his cigarette. As he exhales, he asks, "So, what's up with you and Pete?"

Gerard looks over at Bob guiltily. "There's nothing going on with Pete and me."

"Bullshit. Did you think no one was ever going to notice that you two always go crazy at the same time?"

"It's nothing." Gerard taps his feet against the concrete. "Pete and I keep accidentally hooking up. The last time was after Mikey's show on Saturday."

"How many times?"

"Six or seven," Gerard answers. "I know it's not technically an accident after the first two times but calling it that helps."

"What about Lyn?" Bob asks.

Gerard shrugs, displacing his cigarette a bit. "It just kind of ended after school started. We both got really busy and stopped talking."

"Are you going to do anything about Pete?"

"He's got Patrick."

"You know him and Patrick aren't actually together, right? Patrick is seriously the straightest dude I've ever met. They're just Pete and Patrick."

"Yeah but then there was him and Mikey being all whatever."

Bob thinks for a few seconds before he speaks again. "When him and Mikey were all," Bob waves his hands to illustrate his point, "what pissed you off more? That fact that Pete was hooking up with Mikey or Mikey was hooking up with Pete?"

Gerard blushes. "Pete. But I was a little worried about Mikey, too. Don't you think it's creepy to date the same guy that your brother dated?"

"It's a little creepy, but it's not the creepiest thing I've ever heard," Bob agrees.

"I don't know. If he wanted something more than random handjobs in the art closet, wouldn't he just say something?" Gerard asks.

"This is Pete we're talking about," Bob reminds Gerard. "He's probably written some weird haiku and painted it in his latest mural."

Gerard snorts. "I'll make you a deal. I'll talk to Pete if you talk to Frank."

Bob considers it. He's been getting a lot of work done this week, sure, but Bob really misses his office. He misses Patrick's shitty coffee and throwing paper airplanes on Frank's desk. Plus, it would be nice if he and Frank could just talk about it and put this whole mess behind them.

"Deal." Bob sticks his hand out and Gerard shakes it.

"Cool."

"All right, I've got to go inside. My ass is about to freeze to this bench." Bob stands up and grabs his bag. Gerard stands up too.

"I'll see you this Friday?" Bob asks.

Gerard says, "Yeah, we'll compare notes."

"Later."

Bob cuts back across the yard and instead of heading back into the library, he heads toward the English building.

+

Frank looks up as Bob walks into the office. He's got a guarded expression on his face. For a second, Bob feels bad about being the one to put it there. Then he gets over it because Frank's the one who kissed him and made shit weird.

"Hey," Bob says.

Frank replies, "Hey yourself."

Bob hangs his coat up. "We should talk about Friday."

"What about it?" Frank asks.

Bob rolls his eyes. "You stuck your fucking tongue down my throat, Frank. Pardon me for wanting to know why."

"Pardon me for thinking you didn't really care considering that you walked away without an explanation and have been avoiding me for the last four days," Frank snits.

"Fuck off. Sorry I didn't fall to my knees and thank you for gracing me with your tongue but maybe I wasn't looking to be a warm body for you to blow off steam with."

"Look, I just…" Franks stops and starts again. "Let's be honest, there's always been something between us."

"Yeah." Bob feels his face go bright red. Stupid pale skin.

"I wanted to kiss someone, and since I'm attracted to you, I figured it would be a safe bet."

Bob considers what Frank said, turns the words over and tries to think of a way to take them that doesn't mean Frank isn't interested in him and just sees him as an easy lay. Finally he realizes there is no other way to take them.

"Oh," Bob says flatly.

"Yeah." Frank apparently doesn't pick up on Bob's tone. He gets up from his chair excitedly. "So that's why I was thinking we should do it again."

"What?"

"We should agree that it's okay for us to hook up like that occasionally. Come on, it'll be awesome," Frank pleads.

"No," Bob replies.

"Why are you so against this?" Frank stomps his foot. "Fuck, I just want to kiss you every once in a while."

"Because, Frank, last week you said you weren't ready to date again!" Bob shouts. He's trying to stay calm but Frank's not making it easy.

"Yeah and? What's your point?"

Bob rolls his eyes. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe I don't want to be your hookup or your rebound?"

"What?" Frank looks confused.

Bob takes a deep breath and says it. "I fuckin' like, like, you. I want to go on a date with you, not be the guy you hook up with every time we're drunk."

Frank deflates. "Oh." He sits on his chair heavily and looks at Bob. "But Bob, I'm not fit for human consumption right now. You don't want to date me."

"You think I don't already know that?" Bob asks.

Frank doesn't answer. He's got a pinched expression on his face and if Bob didn't know better, he'd almost think that Frank's about to cry.

Before this can turn into an even bigger mess, Bob shoves some papers he's been meaning to read into his bag and puts his coat back on.

"I'll see you later," Bob mumbles as he walks out the door. If Frank replies, Bob doesn't hear it.

Patrick looks up from his computer as Bob walks by and opens his mouth to say something.

Before he can speak, Bob says, "Tell Pete to talk to Gerard."

+

Bob sneaks into the back of Brian's class and listens to him wrap up his lecture.

"And that, kids, is why Moby Dick is so gay." Brian raises his voice to be heard over the rustle of students packing up. "I mean gay literally, by the way, not as a synonym for shitty. Don't forget that your essays on Melville's use of tattoos are due next time."

After everyone's left the room, Brian looks over at Bob and asks, "You spying on my classes now?"

"Nah, I just wanted to watch a master at work. Maybe pick up a few tips." Bob stands up and stretches. "You feel like coffee or something?"

Brian shoves his battered copy of Moby Dick into his bag and says, "That depends. Are you going to tell me more about how you and Frank are a couple of losers?"

"Fuck off." Bob walks out of the classroom and waits for Brian to catch up. Once they get outside, they head for the coffee shop closest to campus. Bob fills Brian in on the Gerard and Pete situation as they walk.

"Are you shitting me?" Brian asks. "That is the most insane thing ever." He holds the door open and follows Bob into the coffee shop.

"I know. But I told him to talk to Pete. It's not like things could get worse." Bob gets to the front of the counter and places his order.

After they get their drinks and scare off some undergrads from the best table in the place, Brian asks, "So, come on. What's up?"

"I don't know. We talked and Frank's all, 'I just want to make out with you. Why can't we just make out randomly?'"

Brian laughs. "I hope you didn't agree to that. That's the worst line ever."

"No kidding." Bob sips his coffee and shrugs. "I told him we couldn't kiss because he wasn't ready to date. When he still didn't get it, I said that I wanted to be more than a hookup or a rebound."

Brian raises his eyebrows in surprise. "No shit, you actually manned up."

"Yeah."

Brian says, "So how did you guys leave things?"

"That was pretty much it. He said he didn't want to date anyone, I said I wanted more, he made a sad face, and I left."

"Nice."

Bob nods and doesn't say anything. They sit in silence and watch people walk by the window. The tension slowly starts to leave Bob and he feels his shoulders relax inch by inch. Brian pulls out some papers and grades them while Bob stares at his coffee. After an hour, Brian looks at his watch and makes a face.

"Shit, gotta go." He shoves everything back in his bag and stands. "You gonna be all right?"

"Yeah," Bob answers automatically. Brian gives him a look and Bob sighs. He thinks about it and says, "I'll be all right."

"Cool." Brian slaps him on the shoulder and leaves.

Bob stays at the coffee shop for the rest of the afternoon. By the time he's done with his third cup of coffee, Bob's decided that he's okay with Frank knowing about his crush. It's not ideal and it's going to make shit weird for a while, but at least Bob finally did something about it.

+

For the rest of the week, Bob works from the library and skips happy hour on Friday. He tells himself that he's just trying to get centered, and by the time Monday morning rolls around, he's ready to go back to his office.

Stump looks up when Bob walks in and raises his eyebrows.

"Hey man," Patrick says. "Haven't seen you in awhile. Everything all right?"

"It's getting there," Bob answers.

The door to his office is cracked and Bob knocks on it lightly as he pushes it open. Frank turns around from his desk. Bob can see a flicker of surprise on Frank's face before he schools it into a blank expression.

"How's it going?" Frank says cautiously.

"Are we cool?"

"Why wouldn't we be?"

Bob exhales in exasperation. "Seriously, Frank. Tell me if you're not cool with sharing an office anymore and I'll talk to Barbara about switching." Bob shudders a little. Barbara would demand to know why Bob needed a switch and she'd probably have an answer for every lie that Bob came up with.

"Why would you leave?" Frank asks.

"Because," Bob gestures helplessly around the office, "it's a small office and I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

Frank shakes his head. "You're such an asshole. You don't make me uncomfortable. Anyway, I think if anyone leaves, it should be me."

"No," Bob immediately replies.

"I've got an idea," Brian says. Bob and Frank both turn in surprise to look at him standing in the doorway. "Why don't the two of you agree to stop being complete douchefaces? This way, no one has to switch offices."

Frank points to Brian. "That is also an option."

"Thank you, Schechter," Bob says. "Did you need something?"

Brian pinches his nose with his thumb and forefinger and asks, "Can you come to my office later?"

"Yeah."

After he leaves, Bob looks over at Frank and says, "How about we just agree to never bring it up again?"

"Okay," Frank agrees.

Bob leaves for Brian's office. The door is open, and Bob walks in without knocking. He leans against the wall. Hopefully, he won't be here long enough to force himself into the chair.

"What's up?" Bob asks.

"So apparently, Pete and Gerard worked things out."

"Seriously?" Bob drops into the chair. This bit of news is worth the discomfort.

"I walked in on them last night when I was supposed to meet Gerard for dinner." Brian grimaces. "I left pretty quickly because my eyes were scarred but Gerard called me later and told me about it. Then Pete was waiting for me when I got here this morning."

Now Bob wishes he had some popcorn. "For what?"

Brian rolls his eyes. "To make sure he wasn't stepping on my toes and that I could handle the pain of losing Gerard to him."

"No shit." Bob can't help but laugh.

"Yes!" Now Brian's laughing. "He thought I was in love with Gee. I kept telling him that I don't like dick but he wouldn't shut up until I swore I was cool with it. I also had to promise that I wouldn't make any trouble for them."

Bob laughs so hard that he's gasping for breath. When he finally catches his breath again, he says, "Oh my god, that's the best thing I've heard all day."

"Those two are fucking meant for each other." Brian shakes his head in disbelief. "Anyway, I'm teaching a class on New England authors next semester. Melville, Hawthorne, all that shit. You want to be my TA?"

Bob straightens up in the chair. "Shit, are you serious?"

"Yeah. I need someone with your background and I know you'll be good at it. You can talk about all the homo subtext."

"Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I read gay subtext in everything," Bob replies.

"You also don't not read subtext," Brian says. "So, you in?"

"Fuck yeah." Bob doesn't even try to hide his grin.

"Awesome, I'll get the reading list to you by next week."

Brian turns back to his computer. Bob stands to leave but not before he says, "Thanks, Brian."

+

There are a few weeks where Bob and Frank don't really talk to each other much. Every time they're both in the office at the same time, they're respectful of each other's personal space. Frank's conscious of himself now and there's no more of the loose, casual touches that Bob had slowly gotten used to. Bob misses that warm press of Frank, and being close enough to smell the faint traces of his shampoo.

This is how things have to be, Bob tells himself. It's better this way. Slowly, Bob starts to believe it.

The signal that things are finally back to normal comes one Friday morning at the beginning of November. Frank storms into the office, slams an essay on Bob's desk, and says, "What the fuck are they trying to do to me?"

Bob reads the title Kate Chopin Hated Babies and laughs. "Oh shit," he says. "That's got to be the worst title I've ever read."

"Right? And that's not even the worst thing about the paper. In fact, this paper is so bad that you need to buy me a beer tonight."

"Bullshit," Bob replies.

"Booooobbbb," Frank moans.

"Maybe."

Frank doesn't shut up about beer for the rest of the day. By the time five pm rolls around, Bob is willing to buy a six pack if it means Frank will shut up.

Bob stands up and puts his coat on. He packs up his bag, all the while aware of Frank watching him out of the corner of his eye. As Bob's walking out of the office, he says, "Your beer isn't going to wait forever, Iero."

Behind him, Frank whoops. Bob smiles and feels the most calm he's felt since they kissed.

+

Pete talks Patrick into having Thanksgiving at his place that year. It's kind of a non-traditional Thanksgiving; instead of a turkey, everyone brings their favorite dish. There's also a lot of wine and Bob makes sure to get some every time the bottle's passed around.

When Bob stands up to get dessert, he's a little surprised to realize that he's pretty buzzed. He grabs a piece of pecan pie from Krista and sits back down on the couch opposite from Pete and Gerard. Bob watches them whisper to each other and laugh. He's trying to ignore that, between Gerard and Pete, Bob should be looking at four hands and not the two he does see when Frank sits down.

"Hey," Frank says. "What's going on?"

Bob gestures over at Pete and Gerard with his fork. "I'm trying to eat my pie but those two are making it kind of hard."

Frank looks at them and grimaces. "Where are Pete's hands?"

"Don't ruin my pie." Bob continues to eat. He's enjoying the crunch and salty-sweet taste of the pecans when Frank clears his throat. He doesn't speak though and Bob refocuses on his pie.

They sit in silence for a few more minutes until Frank clears his throat again.

Bob puts his fork down on the plate and looks over at Frank. "What?"

"What?"

Bob blinks at him a couple of times before he says, "You keep fucking clearing your throat. Either say something or drink some water. It's annoying"

"Good idea." Frank stands up quickly. "I'm going to go get some more wine. Want some?"

Bob considers his half-full glass. "Yeah, okay."

+

The three weeks between Thanksgiving and the end of the semester fly by, and Bob spends most of it finishing up his coursework and writing final exams. Patrick, Frank, and Bob grade all their exams together at Frank's apartment in a marathon session the night before grades are due. They spend a lot of time laughing at answers and drinking beer, but they also get it all done before the deadline.

The next night is the department Christmas party. Bob forces himself to go even though he hasn't slept in almost two days. He's talking with Frank and Patrick and watching Barbara get steadily drunker when Brian comes over.

"Where are Gerard and Pete?" Brian asks.

"Department only," Patrick answers. "I said I'd call Pete when we got done here but he said not to worry about it. He then told me how he and Gerard would keep busy, in great detail."

"Ugh," Brian says. "I feel like I know more about their sex life than I do about my own."

"You're flying home tomorrow, Bob?" Frank asks.

"Yep. Seven am." Bob looks at his watch. "Shit, I should get going. I still haven't packed or anything."

Bob says bye to everyone and makes his way out. It's snowing, again, when he leaves the building and he kicks the snow as he walks. Bob kind of prefers the campus during finals week when most of the students are gone and the ones remaining are relieved to be done. It's a whole different place.

By the time he gets home, Bob's covered in snow and he leaves his coat and boots in a pile by the door. Earlier in the day, before he had to proctor an exam, he had pulled out his suitcase and some stuff to pack. Bob stands in the middle of his apartment now and stares at the piles. He's hoping that if he stares hard enough, the clothes will pack themselves. Before Bob can prove himself right, his buzzer rings. He walks over to the intercom. "Yeah?"

"It's Frank. Let me up."

"What do you want?"

"I want to get out of this fucking cold. Buzz me up."

"Fine, fuck."

Bob pushes the buzzer until he's sure that Frank's made it in and then cracks his front door for him. He walks back over to the suitcase and stares at it some more. He hears the door swing open behind him and when Bob turns back around, Frank's standing in the doorway.

"Come in, dude. Stop letting all the hot air out."

Frank nods and walks in. He rubs his hands together briskly and says, "Shit, why is it so cold?"

"It's called winter, Frank." Bob shakes his head. "What's up?"

Frank doesn't say anything, just keeps rubbing his hands together. Bob stares at him until it becomes clear that Frank's not about to talk and repeats, "Frank, what's up?"

"I, uh, I wanted to say bye and Merry Christmas."

"We said bye at the party."

"Did we?" Frank walks around the living room, trailing his hands over the furniture. "I wasn't sure so I thought I'd stop by and say bye."

Frank won't look at Bob. His stomach feels sour.

"Frank, what the fuck is going on?"

Frank's standing in front of Bob now. He looks up at Bob and says, "You remember when we kissed?"

"Vaguely," Bob says dryly.

"And you remember how I said I wasn't ready to date?"

"Frank, why are you bringing this up?" Bob asks helplessly. "I was there, I don't need a recap. Plus, we agreed to never talk about it again."

Frank bounces up and down on his toes and takes a few deep breaths. "What would you say if I said I'm ready to date?"

Bob takes a step back. The back of his legs hit the couch and he sits down automatically. "Are you asking or telling me?"

"I'm telling you. I'm ready to date, and I want to date you. And I'm hoping like hell I didn't completely fuck my chance with you up."

That's all it takes for everything Bob thought he had put behind him to come rushing back. He doesn't answer Frank, just stares at him and tries to figure out if Frank really means it.

"Bob?" Frank asks.

"Why now?"

"It's not like I wasn't interested then, fuck. I just... I needed time to get over Jamia. I wanted to be ready to commit to you hardcore." Frank laughs. "I almost told you at Thanksgiving actually. You were kind of drunk though and I chickened out. But I'm tired of waiting, and I'm tired of worrying that I waited too long. "

Bob doesn't say anything.

"Seriously Bob, say something. Is it too late?" Frank chews on his bottom lip the way he does when he's nervous. There's something about the gesture that's so endearing that Bob shakes his head.

"No," he mumbles. Bob clears his throat and says again, "No."

Frank throws himself at Bob and Bob's suddenly got a lapful of Frank. Bob laughs. Frank pushes at Bob's shoulders until Bob's lying down on the couch.

Frank holds himself up over Bob and says, "Hi."

"Hey," Bob replies.

Frank leans down and slowly presses his lips against Bob's. It's dry and chaste, and Bob can't figure it out. He brings his hand up and cups the back of Frank's neck. Bob runs his fingers through Frank's hair and pulls Frank's head down, trying to increase the intensity of the kiss.

Frank pulls off him long enough to mutter, "Can I help you, Bryar?"

Bob leans up and kisses Frank, taking advantage of Frank's open mouth to stick his tongue in. Over the past two months, the memory of their previous kiss had kind of faded. It's probably for the best because this kiss is better than anything Bob's memory could have supplied.

Frank pulls at the hem of Bob's shirt and says, "Bob, hey Bob. You should take your shirt off."

Bob's too far gone to think of a witty comeback. He raises his arms above his head and says, "You should take it off for me."

"Can do." Frank strips it off him efficiently and then whips off his own shirt.

Frank drops all his weight on Bob, giggling at Bob's muffled 'oof'. Then he wiggles his hips against Bob's. There are easily four layers of clothing between their cocks and Bob's couch is small but the first feel of Frank's cock against his nearly pushes Bob over the edge.

"Okay," he gasps. Bob grabs Frank's hips and holds them still even though his own hips are pressing up, trying to make contact again. "Okay, we're going into the bedroom right now."

"That's a little bold of you, Bryar." Frank waggles his eyebrows. "How do you know I'm that kind of a guy?"

Bob yanks Frank down again and growls, "Are you trying to say you're not?"

Frank moans in response and Bob pushes him up. Once Frank's kneeling on the couch again, Bob nudges him with his knees until Frank climbs off the couch. Bob stands up and starts walking toward the bedroom. He gets to the hallway entrance before he realizes that Frank's not following. Bob turns back around. Frank's standing in the middle of the living room.

"What's up?" Bob asks.

"Nothing." Frank smiles goofily. "I'm just pretty psyched about this."

"You can be psyched about it the bedroom too," Bob says.

"True." Frank runs past Bob and heads down the hallway yelling behind him, "Last one in the bedroom has to fuck me!"

It's the first time Bob's ever lost a race and still been happy with the outcome.

+

Bob winds up getting two hours of sleep that night. Frank wakes him up at 4 am with a blowjob, helps him finish packing, and then insists on waiting with Bob for the taxi.

They crowd together, Frank sticking his hands in the pockets of Bob's coat.

"So cold, Bob," Frank chatters.

"You don't have to wait with me, dumbass." Bob leans closer to Frank.

Frank buries his face in Bob's neck. "Yes, I do," he mutters.

"Gah, your nose is like a fucking icicle," Bob complains. "I'll be back in a week, before New Year's."

"You know, they say how you spend your New Year's sets the tone for the rest of the year."

"So I'm going to spend the next year screwing your brains out?" Bob asks.

He actually feels Frank leer against his neck before Frank answers, "Yes please."

The taxi drives up then and Frank reluctantly pulls away. Bob loads his suitcase in the back of the cab and turns around to look at Frank.

"I'll call you as soon as I get in," he says.

"You better, asshole."

Frank hugs him tight and Bob lets him. Before Frank can pull away, Bob says, "I would have waited a lot longer. You're worth it."

Frank pulls back, and his grin is bright and happy. "So are you."

The cab driver honks his horn and Bob shrugs. "See you in a week."

"Bye."

Bob gets in the cab and turns around to watch Frank as the cab pulls away. Frank waves until the cab turns the corner. Once it does, Bob leans against the seat and watches the streets go by.


End file.
